Temptation, Chronicles of the Fallen, Book 3 (11 page)

“I asked you a question. What do you think you’re doing?”

She glanced around, as if the evidence should be obvious. “I know you gave up your room for me.” She climbed down from the chair and set the broom aside, brushing dust from her hands. “So I thought…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the severe frown on his face.

She cleared her throat, lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and pushed on. “I thought, since you agreed to teach me to defend myself…and well, with the paints and the exercise equipment…and you gave up your room for me…” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “I was just trying to show my appreciation. This was all I could think of.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, deadpan.

“But this room is filthy!” She took a step in his direction, only to pull up short, as if she’d thought better of approaching him. “You can’t stay here in this—”

Gideon gave a very dramatic, totally unnecessary flourish of his hand and conjured the room spotless. New curtains framed the now gleaming windows. Fresh bedding covered the perfectly made bed. Neither a speck of dust, nor a cobweb was to be seen.

He arched a sarcastic brow. “Happy?”

Her breath caught as she swiftly spun in a circle, taking in his mad housekeeping skills. Slowly, she turned back to face him. “If you could do that, why were you sleeping in this room with it the way it was?”

“Are you ready to go?”

Her lips tightened in a flat line, and her eyes narrowed. After a moment of deep breathing, she said in a very polite, very clipped tone, “I just need to wash up a bit.”

He gave another dramatic, sarcastic flourish, conjuring her clean.

“Ready now, darlin’?”

Temper flared to life, sparkling in her eyes. Before she could explode, Gideon pulled in his power, focusing on the mental picture of her little bungalow in the suburbs. The bedroom fell away, and the grass of her backyard solidified beneath his feet.

He watched as she materialized nearby, wobbling on unsteady legs. Her face had lost every last drop of color. Squelching the urge to reach for her, to steady her, to apologize, he marched past her and headed toward the house.

“One hour and not a second more,” he bit out, not letting himself so much as glance her way. “Better hop to it.”

“Jackass,” she hissed beneath her breath and stomped after him.

Despite his determination not to bend, a slow, appreciative grin curved the edges of his mouth.

That’s my girl.

Chapter Nine

The moment Gideon cleared the doorway, he knew something was wrong. He came to an abrupt stop, but it was too late. Maggie was already inside.

“Gideon, wait,” she cried. “Something here is wrong! I can feel it.”

A dark chuckle echoed through the living room. “So the Halfling has powers of her own? Perhaps I’ll have to spend a bit of time with her before turning her over to Stolas.”

Mortikaï.

The memory of a crushed, blackened ball of gold and fractured jewels came to mind. That amulet would have made it possible for him to touch the woman beside him. He could have kept Maggie, could have taken her as his mate. Could have spent an eternity in her arms. Mortikaï had stolen more from Gideon than he’d realized.

Rage slammed through him before he even knew it was coming. Gideon launched himself across the room, morphing into his demonic form on the fly without giving it a second thought. He plowed into Mortikaï with bone crushing force.

A shrill scream rent the air, but Temptation was too focused on killing the demon he battled to wonder where the cry had come from. Huge fists pummeled him. Razor sharp claws tore through his flesh. Temptation barely felt the blows. Unleashed fury drove him. He wanted this bastard’s blood flowing between his fingers. Temptation wanted to tear him into tiny pieces. He wanted his head on a spike.

Walls cracked, windows shattered, furniture splintered and crumbled beneath his fury as he threw the demon across the room and dove after him, rolling about, teeth gnashing, claws slashing, elbows and knees flying.

Temptation felt a brief sting as his enemy made a grab for his throat. He missed tearing out Temptation’s jugular, but a glint of silver flashed in the demon’s bloody fist. A plasma ball exploded near Temptation’s shoulder as another demon appeared in the corner.

Dodging the flames, Temptation shot to his feet, driving a fist spine deep into his foe’s stomach. Another plasma ball splattered across Temptation’s back. With a fierce roar, he turned to confront his attacker. He vaulted across the room, gripped the newcomer’s head between his massive hands, and squeezed, crushing it like a cantaloupe.

After igniting a plasma ball, he dropped it on his fallen foe to finish the job. Spinning back, he caught a brief glimpse of his nemesis’s vile smile as his foe held something small, something shiny, and sparkling silver up in his bloody fist. And then his target disappeared in shimmering waves of air.

Uncomprehending of what message his enemy had been trying to send, Temptation lunged forward, roaring for the bastard to come back. Just a hint of a shimmer trail lingered. The bastard wouldn’t get away from him that easy.

But a tiny whimper snagged his attention. Still caught in the grips of bloodlust, Temptation whirled about, searching for another adversary. Wild with the hunger to kill, Temptation stalked across the room, kicking the broken hunks of furniture out of his way.

A small female crouched in the corner, her eyes wide and terrified. Something feral rose up inside him. He could scent her fear, and he fed on it, tracking it the way a wild animal scented its prey.

The female rose, her whole body trembling violently as she braced her back against the wall. She cautiously lifted her hands, palms out, between them and spoke. At first he couldn’t understand her, couldn’t understand the strange language, the words foreign and difficult to process.

Hunger for destruction drove him closer. The female’s soul pulsed with an energy he’d rarely, if ever, seen before. It bathed her like a golden sunrise. Feeding from her would give him energy untold. He stared at her, at first greedily drinking in the pulsing power he was soon to take, but then, by slow degrees, he became aware of her physically. And hunger of another kind rose. Her body would pleasure his first, as he hadn’t been pleasured in time untold.

Temptation closed the distance between them, reaching for her. But the moment his large hand closed over the fragile bones of her wrist, the strangest sensation washed over him. It was as if he’d been bathed in white light. Magical. Soothing. Peaceful. A foreign kind of calm enveloped him. He drew a deep breath. Sweet. Vanilla. Cinnamon.

Familiar.
Why?

Frowning, he struggled to make the connection as his body warred with itself. Feed from her. Hold on to her like something precious. Take her beneath him and pleasure himself ruthlessly upon her flesh. Protect her.

Temptation drew another deep breath. Breathing her in. With every breath, those urges to protect became more powerful, the urge to destroy muted, placated.

He reached out curiously and ran the back of his knuckles along the smooth skin of her cheek. Soft. His brow knitted as he caught a lock of hair between his thumb and fingers. He rubbed it, marveling at the smooth texture.

She nervously moistened her lower lip with the tip of a delicate tongue. His feral, narrow-eyed gaze snapped to her mouth. With cautious movements, he gently ran the pad of his thumb along the glistening pink flesh, testing texture and warmth. The acrid scent of her fear abated. He slowly met her gaze. The color, not quite blue, not quite green, caught him. Trapping him. Calming him further. The flutter of her pulse tickled the pads of his fingers and he gentled his grip on her wrist in response.

A disturbance of energy and power behind him snapped his attention around.

“Gideon!” A deep male voice cracked through the room. “Step back from the Halfling.”

Temptation whipped his head back, and he blinked at the female. She began to twist and tug frantically at her wrist, first whimpering, and then agonized moaning deep in her throat as her big eyes welled with tears. She spoke to him again in that language he couldn’t understand. Her delicate wrist snapped like a twig beneath his grip, and she cried out.

“Temptation! Release her!”

His head jerked around. He didn’t like that tone. Not one bit.

Who was this demon who dared to challenge him for this prize?

Sharp little nails clawed at his forearm. The female flailed, trying desperately to get away. Irritated, he tossed the female aside, turning to fully face his challenger, dismissing the pained whoosh of breath as the female crashed into something and fell to the floor with a dull thud.

“Mikhail,” his challenger barked. “Get the Halfling back to the farm.”

Temptation’s head snapped to the side, only now aware of the other demon in the room. A tall bastard, bald, scarred, and ugly as sin. Temptation snarled as the second demon approached the female. That belonged to him.

The big, scarred demon bristled with aggression.

“Not now, Mikhail,” the first demon said quietly. “He’s too far gone. Just take care of the Halfling.”

“He is beyond reason, Seer,” the big demon warned.

“I know,” the challenger said, his voice resigned. “Just get her out of here.”

Temptation watched the byplay between the two, not really caring what they were saying. Were they here to fight, or talk? Because he wasn’t interested in talking. Only in blood. Their blood.

“I’m sorry about this, Gideon.” The challenger lunged toward Temptation, wrapping massive arms around him. They crashed to the floor. Roaring, Temptation turned his full attention on the challenger. That was all the time it took for the second demon to snatch up his prize. Then the second demon shimmered, taking the unconscious female with him.

Fury rolled through him as the soothing, strangely familiar scent of vanilla and cinnamon faded.

A meaty fist clipped Temptation in the jaw. “Snap out of it, Gideon.” Another blow caught him in the temple. “We need you now, you bloody bastard. Calm down!”

Temptation swung wildly, connecting with the challenger’s ribs, driving a satisfying whoosh of air from his lungs as bone snapped.

“Damn it, Gideon. I didn’t want to have to do it this way.” The challenger held up something in his fist. Small, metallic. Temptation sniffed the air, wary now.

A powerful electrical charge zapped into his chest, bringing him to his knees. Another jolt streamed into the side of his neck, even more powerful than the first, and his huge body convulsed as wave after wave of electrical currents slammed through him. Darkness claimed him before his head hit the floor.

Gideon woke with a start as ice cold water splashed onto his face. His gaze whipped around the room, and he realized he was lying on the floor. He took in the fireplace, the hunting lodge décor, and realized he was at Sebastian’s farm. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. But that was nothing new. He’d often woken up in a different place after going demonic. The trick was trying to remember what he’d done while in demonic form. Sometimes, he never remembered.

Those times were, more often than not, a blessing.

“He’s coming to,” he heard Carly call out.

Niklas’s face came into his line of sight.

“Good to have you back, buddy.”

“What happened?” The room spun, but he shook his head. Whatever it was, it had been something fiercely important. “Where’s Maggie?”

Niklas and Carly exchanged worried glances.

Gideon turned to the tall demon leaning over the sofa a few feet away. His bald head was tipped forward in concentration, and his broad back blocked most of the woman from Gideon’s sight. But he’d know those legs anywhere.

Gideon rushed across the room. Maggie lay on the couch, unconscious, barely breathing. Blood smeared the side of her face. One arm lay across her stomach, her wrist swollen, black and blue, and bent at an impossible angle. A large, bloody tear in her shirt revealed a still healing, pink splash of skin.

Only by sheer dint of will did Gideon refrain from going demonic and possessively shoving Mikhail’s large hands away from where they hovered over her chest. Mikhail was healing her, he reminded himself. But it didn’t help much. The idea of any male touching her for any reason turned his vision red with jealousy.

Anxious, Gideon looked to Mikhail’s face. Mikhail’s expression was grim, focused. A muscle clenched in his jaw. A bead of perspiration rolled down the side of his face, pooling in the deep scars.

“What the hell happened to her?” Gideon demanded, whirling to confront Niklas.

Niklas reached over and, grasping Carly’s elbow, tugged her behind him. Shielding her from Gideon’s wrath, no doubt.

“Do you remember going to Maggie’s house?” Niklas asked in a soft voice.

Frowning, Gideon slowly nodded. He remembered shimmering there. Maggie had called him a jackass. The muscle in his cheek jumped at the memory. But then he frowned. Something had felt wrong once they’d gone inside the house. Maggie had felt it too.

Mortikaï.

The battle.

His stomach dropped as scene after scene flashed through his mind, distorted and shadowed. But he remembered most of it. Enough to know true horror. His entire body went rigid as he stared down at Maggie.

I
did that.
I
hurt her. Oh sweet Christ!

His worst fears had come to pass. He dropped helplessly to his knees beside Mikhail. Gideon lifted a hand to smooth her tangled hair from her brow, only to stop at the last moment, when he remembered he couldn’t touch her anyway. Why did he constantly forget himself with her? Why, when he had no problem remembering with Carly or Kyanna, did he constantly torture himself trying in vain to touch the one, the
only
woman he wanted above all else? Then again, maybe that was exactly why.

He’d never wanted anyone the way he wanted Maggie.

But he
had
touched her, he remembered now. Her soft lush lips under his thumb. Torment.

And the fragile bones of her wrist, snapping in his beefy fist. Torture.

Clenching those cursed fists in his hands, he turned his anguished eyes to Mikhail. “How bad?”

“Concussion. Broken ribs. Collapsed lung. Lost a lot of blood,” Mikhail hissed between clenched teeth, his attention never leaving his patient.

Gideon could feel the waves of power rolling off Mikhail as he worked tirelessly to heal her.

“Will she be all right?”

Mikhail gave one curt nod, but refused to comment further. Time passed so slowly. Five minutes, five decades, Gideon couldn’t tell. At last, Mikhail sucked in a labored breath, and drew his hands from Maggie’s chest. His expression tight, his lips pinched together, his own chest hitching, Mikhail reached for her wrist. With a ruthless snap, he reset the bone, and then clenched both hands around the broken joint.

Gideon flinched, but he refused to leave her side. He’d done this. He’d inflicted these grievous injuries upon his delicate, breakable Halfling. He had no right to seek easement from her suffering. Mikhail released her wrist. He sat back for a moment and drew another deep breath. Gideon thought he spied bruises forming over Mikhail’s own wrist, but the demon gave a twitch of the sleeve of his leather jacket, and the shadow was swiftly covered. Another bracing breath and Mikhail reached up once more, moving his hands over her, seeking out and healing injury after injury.

Once Maggie was resting comfortably, once Gideon felt as if he’d been tortured by the most skilled the Spanish Inquisition had to offer, Mikhail sat back on his haunches. Gideon stared at Mikhail. Gratitude was too feeble an emotion for what he felt right now for his comrade.

And he understood far more about Mikhail than he had before, even after all this time. He’d never been this close before while Mikhail had used his powers to heal another. Mikhail had never allowed it. In the same room, yes. But never this close. And now Gideon understood why.

Mikhail hadn’t just healed Maggie’s wounds. He had taken those wounds into himself, absorbed them, absorbed the pain while drawing it from his patient. The depth of the sacrifice Mikhail made to help others was staggering. No wonder he disappeared for such lengths of time whenever he healed someone with severe injuries. He was likely recovering from the physical trauma to his own body. And Gideon had no way to thank him, no way to make amends.

Mikhail sat back finally, his hands resting in his lap, exhaustion—and pain, Gideon could see now—lining his features. Somewhere behind them, he could hear Carly and Niklas speaking in hushed tones, but he couldn’t focus on their words. Only on the pale woman lying so still on the couch before him.